


My Sausage Brings All The Boys To The Yard

by flawedamythyst



Series: Winterhawk Tumblr ficlets [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bad Flirting, M/M, drunken avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 09:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Clint's tipsy flirting gets more of a reaction than he was expecting.Written very quickly and originally posted on Tumblr.





	My Sausage Brings All The Boys To The Yard

Helping Bucky rehabilitate after the shit Hydra had done to him had been a group effort. Steve, obviously, had led the show by being there for him at all hours, reminding him about their shared past and what it meant to have a best friend, but the rest of the Avengers had all swung their weight. 

Sam had somehow managed to both be the supportive guy with the correct counselling terminology and the little shit who reminded Bucky how to snark at someone, Tony casually dumped new technology and an endless array of information on Bucky whenever he showed any signs of curiosity, Wanda dragged him out into the New York crowds to go shopping with her while reminding him what it was like to feel a big-brother protectiveness and Natasha. Well, Natasha was the one who sat with him in the middle of the night and softly spoke about their shared memories, helping him put the past into a context that allowed for his present.

Clint felt like he'd got a different role. Okay, so, obviously he was there to make shooting fun again with the endless hours they spent talking smack on the range together, but anyone could have done that. Clint felt like the real way he'd helped was by flirting with the guy non-stop until he'd remembered how to flirt back. All the history books said that Bucky Barnes had been a charming motherfucker, right? Well, Clint had taken point on reminding him how to smile just right to make someone melt a little inside, or drawl out a slow sentence while flicking his eyes up and down the most interesting points of their body.

And he'd done a damn good job of it. By the time Bucky had been in the Tower six months, he was flirting back at Clint with just as much over-the-top cheesiness as Clint was putting into it.

“You want me to cook your sausage?” asked Clint, throwing in a wink as he chucked a couple more sausages on the grill.

Bucky snorted. “You sure you're up for that? I'm kinda choosy about what sausages I put in my mouth.”

Okay, so, maybe letting Tony set the pace on how much everyone drank at the Avengers team-building BBQ had been a bad plan, but Clint was having too much fun to notice that everyone was just on the edge of being too drunk to cope with open flames.

“No one ever says no to my sausages,” he replied, flipping over a burger with a fancy move that sent it spinning through the air, and that he only pulled off because of years of practice with the circus jugglers.

“Guess I'll just have to wait and see,” said Bucky, with a smirk. He drained the last of his bottle of...whatever. Not beer, him and Steve were on something other than beer, something that was making them loosen up and relax into a Brooklyn drawl that, okay, let's be fair, made Clint's pants feel a little tight. Look, just because he and Bucky were only playing around with this flirting thing didn't mean that Clint didn't have a fairly serious crush, okay? It just meant that he was hiding in plain sight. Or something, he was too drunk to remember all the spy shit Natasha and Coulson had tried to teach him.

“You won't be disappointed,” Clint assured him, then finally managed to pull his eyes away from the sexy half-smile hovering around Bucky's mouth and the faint peppering over stubble over his jawline, and return them to the grill he was meant to be concentrating on.

Shit, the sausages were on fire.

He quickly moved them away from the open flame, trying to make it look as if this were totally part of his expert grilling strategy.

Bucky snorted with laughter. “Okay, so, what're the flirting implications of a flaming sausage? That's gotta be gay code for something, right?”

“I'll code your gay,” muttered Clint, distracted by the imminent immolation of half their meat supply.

“Okay, minus ten points to Barton for that one,” said Tony. “I mean, come on, you guys flirt like you're in a bad porno as it is, but that was just awful.” He peered at the grill and winced. “Want me to take over?”

Clint jabbed his tongs at him. “Nope. Keep away, Stark, I'm grillmaster today. And you can take your minus ten points and shove it, because I'm already hundreds of points in the lead.” He glanced at Bucky. “Right?”

“Well, at the moment I'm gonna turn down your sausage,” said Bucky glancing at the charred mess Clint had made, “so, I'm thinking no.”

Clint shook his head, chucking more sausages on the grill and this time actually paying attention to where they landed. “No way, it's all about my sausage. I'm winning this game.”

Bucky stiffened. “Sure, okay,” he said, quickly. “You win the game. Well done.”

He took off before Clint could come back with anything, leaving Clint frowning after him, distracted from the grill again.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

Tony shrugged. “Who can tell, with that guy?” He nodded down at the flames. “You're burning again.”

Clint swore and tore his eyes away from where Bucky had disappeared inside the Tower. His meat was the more immediate priority.

Heh. Meat.

****

Bucky didn't come back for a while, until after Clint had cooked up everything and the Avengers had smashed through most of it. Clint had perched on the railing that went around the outside of the balcony with a hot dog and was watching Tony try to persuade Wanda to use her powers to create fireworks.

Bucky sidled over to the table of food and picked himself up a plate. Steve went over to talk to him while Clint watched and wondered if he needed to make amends, or if Bucky had just had a weird moment he'd prefer to forget.

Bucky and Steve chatted for a few minutes, then Steve attempted to steal a burger off Bucky's plate and Bucky grabbed his wrist with his metal arm and made a face that made Clint think he was probably growling.

Fuck, it was so sexy when Bucky growled.

He shouldn't be thinking about that right now, not in public and after all the alcohol. Later, he'd think about it later, in his bed with the door shut. Yes, plan.

Or was that creepy as fuck? Ugh, Clint was too drunk to decide. 

Steve sent a shit-eating grin at Bucky as he danced back a few steps, the turned away and headed straight for Clint.

Ah crap, had he sensed Clint being creepy about his bestie with his freaky 'someone is being less than heroic' Captain America radar?

“Bucky wants you to know that he's enjoying your meat,” said Steve earnestly, when he got to Clint.

Clint choked on his beer, looking over at Bucky who was glaring at both of them.

“Um,” he managed. “He's welcome?” Bucky's glare strengthened, even though there was no way he should be able to hear them from over there. “Uh, I've gotta say, it doesn't look like he's enjoying it.”

Steve glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, no, that's just the face he makes when he's panicking that the guy he's crushing on has only been playing around with him, rather than flirting for real,” he said, and Clint was very glad he hadn't taken another sip of beer.

“Crushing on?” he repeated. “But...”

Steve was suddenly very close and had a very serious look on his face. “I know you guys have been having fun with this, but you need to know that Bucky is deadly serious. If you're not, you need to stop this thing right now.”

“Oh,” said Clint, breathlessly. The look on Steve's face was kinda making him want to somersault backwards off the railing, because at least if he were falling from a building he wouldn't have Captain America mad at him, and Tony would probably call his suit and catch him in time. Right? Or Wanda or someone?

The train of thought was completely derailed when Bucky took an aggressive bite out of a sausage. All that ridiculous shit about wanting Clint's sausage earlier. Had Bucky really meant that? Did he want to put Clint's sausage in his mouth? 

Should Clint stop referring to his penis as a sausage? Well, okay, that one was a definite yes.

Clint looked back at Steve. “So, you're saying he wouldn't punch his metal hand through my face if I tried to kiss him?”

Steve made a face. “Jesus, Clint. No, he wouldn't, and please tell me you're going to stop drinking soon.”

Clint hopped down off the railing. “Guess that depends on whether or not I'm about to be shot down,” he said, and headed over to Bucky with confidence in his steps that he didn't feel. Oh god, he was about to make a drunken mistake and get rejected by the guy he liked in front of all their friends and fuck, his feet were still moving.

“Hey,” said Bucky, with a suspicious scowl. “What's Stevie been saying to put that look on your face?” 

Clint summoned all his courage, and pinned on his best leer. “He's been saying that maybe you'd like to code my gay.”

What. What?! Oh man, Clint should have stuck with sausages. He was _so bad_ at this, and twice as bad when he meant it for real.

Bucky just stared at him for long enough for Clint to crumble.

“Okay, okay, look. I want to kiss you. I really want to kiss you, and I don't want to have to come up with innuendo to ask you because I'm kinda terrible at innuendo, you've probably noticed, but-”

He was cut off by Bucky's mouth sealing over his, taking away the rest of the trainwreck of that sentence as well as his breath. He let out a relieved mumble and relaxed into Bucky's embrace, clinging onto his shoulders and kissing him back with all the pent-up emotion of months of flirting without hope of it ever being anything more.

“You're a fucking tragedy at innuendo,” said Bucky. “Good thing I've got a soft spot for fucking tragedies.”

“Hopefully with an emphasis on the fucking,” said Clint, earning himself an eyeroll and another kiss.

Okay, yeah. He could go with this. Kisses as rewards for terrible flirting, that was a lifestyle he could fucking own.


End file.
